The hardware store near my apartment had an indoor/outdoor garden section. You could enter by coming through the store, then pass into an airy space full of filtered sunlight and flowers.
I adore greenhouses because the atmosphere is soothing. Especially on a hot summer day like today. I’m a gardener, mostly of culinary herbs. I’d almost rather cook and eat than have sex. Actually, if all my dreams come true I will live on a beach. My fantasy is to build a palapa in Mexico and snorkel all day. I would then cook in the evening and have sex for dessert. In the meantime, I thrive on my artistic small greenhouse in a tent on a card table on the veranda of my apartment.
This day I’m searching for my favorite herb, French Tarragon. It was spring, and spring makes me lust for grilled lamb with fresh tarragon butter.
I was wearing my favorite day-off attire, a long midi dress I’d sewn myself. I altered the pattern so the little puff sleeves had elastic in them so I could wear them off my shoulders like I did today. I designed the bodice with a ribbon drawstring I tie just between my breasts, leaving a little peek-a-boo slit.
Today I wore the botanical floral print dress without a bra, for ventilation, but then I hadn’t owned a bra since 1969.
I noticed a young man watering plants way back in the shadowy areas of the greenhouse. I strolled up and spoke to the top of his head, “Excuse me, do you have any French Tarragon?”
When he looked up from his work I was startled by his crystal pale blue eyes. He smiled a big toothy grin from a Colgate commercial.
I smiled back at him nicely and asked once more, softly but with emphasis, sounding out the word “Tar-a-gon?”
He smiled again, which turned into an enchanting half laugh. I understood there was a message in his eyes while he stared at me, and I stood there like a fool, waiting. For what?
He cleared his throat as if to make a point, then smiled, “French tarragon, huh?”
Now I was the one grinning my biggest toothy smile. I burst out laughing because I finally got the joke. I realized that’s what he was watering–French tarragon!
Embarrassed, I brought both hands to my cheeks and rolled my eyes, “Oh, yes I see it now” as if I had truly seen the light. “May I taste it?”
He nodded, “Sure.”
I bent over and snipped a leaf off between my finger nails and popped it in my mouth, peering up at him, I made an “mmm” sound. But his eyes were glued to my chest. When I glanced down, my small breasts were jumping out of their little-ribboned cage. “Yikes,” I said, and stood in front of him re-tying the drawstring casually, watching him.
His young skin was dappled in sunlight, and I had this crazy urge to kiss him. A voice in my head warned me, What is he, around 17 years old? In high school, maybe? Still, I longed to touch him in the warm morning light, in the shadows of the greenhouse. I imagined lifting his tight white undershirt and finding the snaps inside the fly of his 501’s. I felt a chill thinking about what I’d find in his pants. My nipples constricted, and moisture erupted with a soft pulsing between my thighs.
“I’ll take this flat.”
He was kind enough to ask me if I wanted my plants delivered, and I stayed conscious enough to answer, “Yes that would be nice.”
After I paid I gave the clerk my address and phone number. That person told me my plants would be delivered at closing which was in about ten minutes.
Ten minutes later I arrived at my apartment.
Did that young man say he was delivering the plants personally? I couldn’t remember. I wondered if it was him on his way over, should I tip him?
Why should I feel nervous? After all, He was just delivering plants. I thought maybe I should pour him a coca cola and offer him a drink.
It calmed me to break open the ice tray and do something normal, like pour a can of coke into a glass full of ice. I stood there listening to it fizz when the doorbell startled me.
When I opened the door he stepped in, “Hi, I left your plants on the table outside, is that ok?”
I turned to offer him a drink, but he smashed his mouth into mine hungrily. I kissed him back, and he pulled the tie on the front of my dress exposing my breasts.
He was so much taller than I imagined, seemed older, and very strong. He was cupping my breasts, chewing at my nipples.
My knees gave way and I collapsed.
I was trying to get out of my dress because it was bunched up around my ankles. Soon I was wearing only my panties lying there kicking my dress away looking up at him expectantly. I remember thinking, Is this a rape or not?
He just stood there looking down at me while he unbuttoned his blue work shirt. He was very fit, his chest wide and hairless with broad shoulders and strong arms. He’d seemed much smaller in the greenhouse.
I eyed him carefully as he undid his button fly and exposed his magnificent prick. He calmly dropped to the floor, reached down and carefully slid my panties off and threw them aside.
He took hold of my thighs and pulled my hips toward him, my legs on either side of his waist. He began forcing himself into me. I gasped when he slid halfway in fairly easily because I was wet. He was about to thrust, but he was very large and I felt suddenly terrified.
I stopped him. “Please, I breathed, let me.” He pulled back and sat on his haunches. “All right,” as if he was all patience itself. I took another look at his throbbing cock and lay back down. “Okay, let’s do it your way”. He didn’t blink an eye, just came back to me more gently this time, eased himself in and then thrust and bucked until he came. I wanted to scream but I also didn’t want to scare him. He stood up, buttoned his jeans and put his shirt back on.
I was still lying there naked when he walked out the door without a word. But I knew where to find him. I got up and noticed a sweating glass of coca cola on the counter. I picked it up and took a sip.